


at the bottom of the glass, you find yourself

by handschuhmaus



Category: The Shining - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol, Altered Mental States, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Smoking, ok to podfic, which admittedly is mostly the Overlook itself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21611788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handschuhmaus/pseuds/handschuhmaus
Summary: Jack is at the bar again, and his head's not exactly working right, but then he isn't inclined to complain, either. Why complain, when the barkeep is so solicitous?
Relationships: Dan "Danny" Torrance & Jack Torrance, Jack Torrance/Wendy Torrance, hinted but ambiguous past George Hatfield/Jack Torrance
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12
Collections: 300bpm Flash Exchange November 2019





	at the bottom of the glass, you find yourself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [summerdayghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerdayghost/gifts).



> it turned out I've misplaced my copy of _The Shining_. I remembered even more details than I expected to, but I'm not sure if this quite exactly fits into book canon or is more like a remix of part of it.
> 
> The prompt for this one is The Killers' ["Leave the Bourbon on the Shelf"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GjHnk4vO8Zo)

Jack Torrance is sitting at the bar of the Overlook Hotel, drinking Kentucky bourbon. He was never picky about it, but the bar man insists...

There's something he should remember, one of those things you can't quite... put a finger on.

The image of a bicycle, a mangled bicycle, some kid's, comes to mind, and some sort of stray horror, at an extreme distance. There's also a kiss, something about poets and something about not Wendy and he pushes that aside, because he _doesn't drink to feel guilty!_

The bicycle, tires bent, frame mangled--that'd be an evocative image for a novel, though.

A novel! He should write a novel. Or was he already writing one? Something about the kiss comes back and anger mingled with despair and a mistrustful look and something about furnaces. Had he been flirting with some wife of some... whatever they called the men who come out to fix heating and AC and stff? 'S that why he regrets the damn kiss? Tasted like beer too.

_Can't order a repairman at the Overlook,_ his brain reminds him gleefully.

Right, he's at the bar at the Overlook. Could do with a smoke and doesn't have a light, but that's no trouble--the barman always has a light, and so much more.

" _I_ wouldn't have liquor in a hotel I was locking up for the winter," his brain thinks it unbidden and it makes it all the way to his mouth.

"No indeed, Mr. Torrance," says the barman, perfectly respectfully, and holds out a lit match Jack didn't see him light. He takes a greedy drag on the... he can't remember his own brand at the moment. Tries to supply "Chesterfield" (totally and completely out of character, wrong era, wrong style!) and then "Marlboro", which he's pretty sure he'll take, whether or not it's actually what he has. But it's...hollow. Not the cigarette itself--there's no satisfaction in the smoke, like trying to drink fizz off soda.

Does he usually only smoke when he's drunk? Doesn't seem likely, even if the darn old surgeon general in his tuxedo jacket wanders over and says it may cause cancer. Obviously the problem, though, is he hasn't drunk enough. "Bartender, pour me another!" he says, dropping the singularly unsatisfying (that's a good phrase) cigarette into the tumbler he already finished.

An insect flies up, into his new glass and he stares myopically at the fuzzy little body. "Waiter," he says, "there's a wasp in my drink." He expects to hear laughter, and doesn't, only hears the barkeep's towel squeaking over a fine crystal glass, and sees that the man has a critical face.

Something unaccountably horrifying comes to mind, about Danny and a wasp nest, and poison that betrayed you. Jack could almost swear his heart skipped a beat before juddering rapidly on into the rapid patter of a blank, shining horror.

And Danny--Wendy doesn't understand what he needs, tries to drag him to all these doctors and experts and things and-- 

_All a boy needs, really, is his father,_ and he's just drunk and already horrified enough that feelings rather than a memory come to mind, of shame and wrongness and... a firm hand. That's what Wendy needs, a firm hand, stop her indulging Danny in this nonsense, a slap'd make her think twice before going to "professionals."

Wendy doesn't like him drinking, though. Hemingway drank, name an author and he probably drank, but Jack Torrance wasn't supposed to, oh no.

But she is not gonna leave him over this. "I've gotta go home," he slurs at the barman.

"I wouldn't if I were you, sir," says the barman, and hands him a crystal flute of clear liquid. It smells like almonds, and he dimly registers that's death, he could give to Wendy or accidentally let Danny...

It takes him until morning and leaving the ballroom before he remembers that he's caretaker of the Overlook, and is actually trying to write a novel.


End file.
